I walked away from him, stepping closer to a hidden place that would buy me time. “There are so many things wrong with that statement. One, you’re not my husband. You’re the dipshit that won’t sign the papers for years now. And two, that’s rich coming from a man that sleeps around from city to city.”
My hands grazed over the drawer that had exactly what I needed. The emergency I hoped I never needed.
“You could have been a better wife.”
“I have been the only one in this scam of a marriage that gave a shit. I tried to support you. I tried to love you, you bastard.”
He scoffed. “All lies. I bet the baby was a lie too.”
I froze.
It had been years since I thought about the loss of my unborn child. I spent months in therapy understanding that it wasn’t my fault no matter how many times he blamed me. I cried so many nights thinking about what could have been. Chris knew how much I wanted a child that we could love. I wanted to be a mom, whether by blood or opening my home.
“Shut the fuck up.” I held back the tears that were burning in the corners of my eyes.
“You caused all this.” He pointed at me, raising his voice above the sound of the rainfall.
“Look in the mirror, and you’ll see who caused your downfall.”
“I’m looking at her. And I think you should make it up to me.” he threatened. “Time to be a good little wife.”
I shook my head, pulling my courage to the surface, frantically trying to open the drawer. One injection and I could get to safety. I needed just one moment to break free. A bandage on a breaking dam.
Chris lunged for me, causing me to pull away from the drawer. He circled around the island, pulling us into a chase. Hot tears started to stream down my face, my mind spun thinking of different scenarios. My phone was across the room, I couldn’t reach it. I had to fight, if only long enough to grab the syringe.
I screamed, sobs that mixed in with the screams. Another nightmare plaguing me. I needed to think fast. Chris grunted, swerving around. In his drunk stupor, he wasn’t walking straight. I had to outrun him. If I could outrun him, I stood a chance. He slowed his pace, running back and forth.
We’d went back and forth, my legs burned with an intensity like I’d never felt before, like a fire coursing through my muscles.But maybe it was the adrenaline that helped me. I thought for one moment. I paused, standing still as Chris reached for me. I lifted my leg and kicked him in the chest, throwing him back against the counter.
His own steps faltered. It gave me the chance to search for the drawer, yanking it open. The drawer was a mess. I wanted to cry harder with frustration. I rummaged through it, pushing aside the contents, trying to find the case. A bright yellow box caught my eyes. With the shaky hands, I grabbed the syringe, already loaded with the drug.
I barely turned when Chris snuck up and yanked on my ankles, pulling me down to the floor. My body collided, shooting pain. I yelped at the pain.
Chris, in a rage, yanked on my scrub top, ripping it, exposing my skin, down to my breast. I clawed at his face, pushing against his already black eye. He screamed in agony, I screamed pushing him off me.
With one powerful swing, Chris smacked my face. It radiated with heat and throbbing pain.
“You thought you could fight me. Like it or not, I’m still your husband. You still belong to me. And I’ll fucking do whatever I want to this body, even if it’s tainted by scum that bastard in the club,” he hissed out, putting all his weight on me as he straddled me.
I attempted to shove him, tried to punch him in the face, something to give me the chance to escape him.
He leaned in closer. “What’s the matter, you don’t want your husband to fuck you?” He laughed.
Every time he said the word “husband” I cringed, the word lost its meaning to me.
“Chris, please.” I pleaded with him, hoping that he’d ease up, but it was hopeless. I was defeated, I wasn’t strong enough. Itdidn’t matter to him. He grabbed at my clothes, trying to find an easy access.
Shooter.
I silently pleaded. One word that could have given me strength.
Shooter.
I repeated his name over and over again. I could see his face, a distant daydream, I cried for him. I cried that I wasn’t strong enough to leave, I was too broken and too stubborn to know what I really wanted. Chris’s poisonous touch seared my skin.
Amelia.
A spark in me reignited, a newfound strength. It wasn’t my voice or my thoughts that opened my eyes, but Shooter’s voice calling to me. I knew he wasn’t there and yet I heard his voice in my heart call out to me. To try harder, to escape and find him.
